


Blessings

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship/Love, Holidays, M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Now is the season of my discontent.....'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessings

Title: Blessings  
Rating: Gen  
Characters: Harold Finch, John Reese  
Genre: Fluff, friendship, possible inferred slash if you squint hard enough  
Word Count: 886

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_I should be thankful that I am still alive, I suppose...._ Finch thought wryly. Taking a restorative sip from the steaming mug cradled in his hands, Harold's eyes roamed over the reading room that had become the centre of his 'unlife'. 

The stacks of books, both for reference and pleasure; his cherished collection of first editions tucked safely behind their ornate, ironwork grille. His computers, notes, the small crate of personal comforts that he kept here and of course his list. _'The List'_ as Reese referred to it. A fresco of printed numbers, faded clippings, photographs and a veritable spider's web of strings and pins connecting all of his failures.

_A small kingdom; one that does little to inspire feelings of gratitude._ The recluse grimaced, setting his tea aside; the beverage he loved so much seemed today as sour as his thoughts. Finch risked a glance outside to the streets below him. The sidewalks were bursting with foot-traffic. There were stores open even on the holiday to take advantage of bargain-obsessed shoppers hoping to beat their less enthusiastic competitors to the punch.

Harold returned to his workstation, the half-circle of monitors reflecting the continual searchings of the Machine to find anomalies; make connections; calculate probabilities and present its hypotheses to it’s administrator. He eased himself into the vintage wooden deskchair and analyzed what was before him. There was no new number to research and aid...or foil. No assistance to be rendered to his operative, indeed Harold wasn’t even sure where John was at the moment. 

Oh, he could track the man’s phone easily enough but without a real reason to do so, it seemed pathetic on his part. The hard truth was that Finch was lonely. He scowled to himself. _This is ridiculous! It’s just a Thursday, like any other Thursday of the year. There’s no reason for me to sit here feeling maudlin. There’s always a chance that a number may come up and so I’ll stay here just in case but enough is ENOUGH!_

 

Harold stood up again and moved to the case containing his recreational reads. The reading room’s leather couch may be battered and worn but it was supremely comfortable and the light coming in from the window adjacent provided the perfect illumination for enjoying some time with good literature. _So why,_ he thought as he perused the titles laid out in front of him, _don’t I feel particularly pleased to have the opportunity to do so?_

 

He was about to give up and return to staring out the window, when the familiar tread of his partner’s steps reached his ears. Harold turned towards the stairs, not quite able to hide the spark of relief that flared in him.

“Finch?”

“In here, Mr. Reese.”

The ex-agent muscled his way through the doorframe; a large box of Styrofoam containers cradled in his hands. A canvas shopping bag dangled from each forearm and the op’s face radiated smug triumph. 

“What in heaven’s name is all this?” The billionaire’s eyebrows were well above the frames of his glasses in surprise.

“I’m sorry it took me so long but the crowds are unbelievable.” Reese set his burdens down in front of his boss’ computers and began clearing off an adjacent table. Once he’d reached bare wood, John unpacked the shopping bags; producing a dove gray cloth of fine linen which he spread over the table. Plates, flatware, glasses and matching napkins followed; along with a bottle of very good white wine. Reese turned his attention to the box and Finch inhaled, the savory and sweet odors rising to tickle his nose.

“I hope you don’t consider it too ridiculous, Finch but I’m a traditionalist when it comes to Thanksgiving dinner.” John’s lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile as he arranged containers of sliced turkey, green beans, yams, stuffing, rolls and cranberry sauce on the table. A pint cup of gravy was added and the op turned to meet his partner’s puzzled expression.

“Will you join me, Harold?”

The intensely private man stood for a moment, taking in the bounty spread out before him. The rational part of his mind was having a difficult time coming to grips with the evidence his eyes were taking in. Finch’s soul however, had no compunctions about accepting the gesture that his friend was making.

“Yes, Mr. Reese. Thank you.”

The two men sat opposite of each other and began to fill their plates, Finch’s feeling of discontent evaporating in the face of the warmth of Reese’s own pleasure. The op was _happy_ to be here, with him, sharing this meal. Harold found his emotions echoing those of his companion. The recluse caught Reese’s gaze and smiled; laughing inside as he noted the surprise in the other man’s face. Finch lifted his now filled glass, inclining his head.

“Happy Thanksgiving, John.”

“You too Harold.” Reese’s voice was warm, bringing an equal warmth to Finch’s cheeks.

In the space of five minutes John Reese had reminded him of one, irrevocable truth. _No matter what happens or where we end up, he will always be by my side._ They both began to eat; a comfortable, companionable silence falling over them. Harold smiled to himself as he watched John devouring his food. _That’s the best reason of all for me to be thankful...._

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End file.
